


Casual Encounters

by topcatnikki



Series: Phichicometti [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: I love them so much, M/M, One-Night Flings, Phichicometti are my bois, Switches, no romance we fuck from the get go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 05:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15478347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topcatnikki/pseuds/topcatnikki
Summary: Phichit’s first Gold medal experience is topped off by a whirlwind fling with Christophe Giacometti, he doesn’t consider it any more than the cherry on top of a particularly excellent cake, but it happens again… and again.





	Casual Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was going to be my LLYBB fic, but alas I stalled on it and couldn't push out the second chapter. Instead you all get the joy of pure fucking balls to the wall phichicometti smut! Ngl I love this fic a whole heap, and I hope to continue it one day but for now you guys can have at it <3

Podium selfies are his favorite selfies, Phichit decides, as he watches the image of himself, Yuuri, and Christophe raking in thousands of likes in the minutes between posting and Celestino banishing his phone with a frustrated huff of breath. Phichit waves off his ever exasperated coach with a wide smile. Nothing, not even annoyed Italians, could take the shine off his winning his first International Gold Medal. 

 

The green room is a quiet interlude between the medal ceremony and the press conference awaiting him. He’s been greeted, cheered, and congratulated a hundred times, he’s still trying to  _ process _ the whole thing as Yuuri gets to his feet, pulling Victor along with their fingers entwined as Chris trades off places in front of the media. Phichit doesn’t envy them the spotlight, they’re all over Twitter and Insta with their hijinks already and the press officers have been having kittens.

 

Phichit watches Christophe take a deep breath, looking relieved at having finally freed himself from the flashbulbs and questions. He glances at Phichit and makes a beeline for him.

 

“Congratulations, petit. Gold suits you.” Christophe greets him with a lavish wink and a sure smile. They've spoken a few times, in and out of competition, but Phichit has always been starkly aware of his (slight) hero-worship of the older skaters. He tries to at least  _ act _ cool if he can't attain it in reality. “How do you feel?”

 

“Amazing, mostly.” He laughs, hand tangling in his now-mussed hair from all the selfies and hugging he's been dragged into. Christophe tilts his head at that, considering him swiftly.

 

“Just mostly?” Chris sounds disbelieving. 

 

“No - No I'm really happy! I'm just…” Phichit gives a weak laugh, still thinking over the sudden upsurge in his Insta followers and the likes on his selfies, “Processing. I guess?”

 

The edges of Chris’ sharp look soften at his words, that almost mocking smile settling into something warmer and all together more kind. Chris steps a little closer, “Your first?” 

 

“Gold?” He glances down to the medal still pressed against his chest, nestled in the folds of his Terra Incognita costume. He can’t help but run his fingers along the edges lovingly. He zones out for a split-second, staring at his prize and considering the implications, he’s Thailand's first international medalling Figure Skater… “My first international gold, yeah.” 

 

“Then that calls for a celebration, no?” Chris offers him another lascivious wink, pulling Phichit back into the moment with a blink.

 

Is Chris… is Christophe Giacometti  _ flirting _ with him? 

 

Chris has a reputation for being a flirt, for being forthright and unendingly comfortable with hitting on every person he came into contact with. Phichit never really bought into that particular rumour - well he did a  _ little - _ but then he’d met Yuuri, who had met Chris and been informed of a ‘few things’. 

 

Yuuri had competed against Chris when he’d been in juniors, had been on an ‘infrequents texts’ friendship basis with him for years, and had talked about late nights mid-competition with himself and Chris watching bad romcoms at Chris’ insistence when he’d had a bad skate. Flirty he may be, but also a kind guy who helped out Phichit’s best friend before they’d ever met.

 

Chris is in front of him, still watching him with a slight smile. “Have any plans for that?” 

 

Okay, that’s definitely a come on, and Phichit is about to throw out a saucy reply because hell, he’s twenty years old and a hot guy wants to hook up, but they’re interrupted by the sudden upsurge of noise as the doors to the media room open and out spills Victor Nikiforov, dragging Yuuri behind him and looking embarrassed and frustrated.

 

“Later?” Chris gives him a nudge towards the media room and approaches Victor, who’s building up a head of steam about the fact no-one asked about Yuuri’s skating and only about the kiss Victor had laid upon him. “Go get your headline and I’ll deal with this!” 

  
  


Celebrating a win varies from athlete to athlete, some people go out and paint the town, some have a meal with their loved ones. 

 

The night Phichit wins the Gold at Cup of China, he celebrates his first ever international gold medal with his mouth around Christophe Giacometti’s cock as he buries his lubed fingers in the guy’s ass. 

 

It’s one hell of a celebration, Phichit thinks when Chris rises up from the sheets he’d been lying on, pulling Phichit into his arms and kissing him before he climbs into Phichit’s lap and positions himself over his cock. It’s giggly and silly, and there’s too much lube so Chris ends up frustratedly pinning Phichit against the mattress to ride him and they’re both flushed and still laughing at the situation.

 

The humour lasts until Chris manages to find a twist of his hips that has Phichit gasping and gripping his hips tightly, fucking up into the heat of Chris’ body with sweat finally beginning to bead on his brow. Chris is flushed and they’re moving together like it’s a dance with only one real way to complete it. Their chests are connecting as Phichit reaches and pulls Chris down to him, and if it had looked amazing clad in his free skate costume it looks even better flushing a shade darker than his face and contrasting in all the right ways against Phichit’s fingers.

 

It’s a gasping grinding shifting of their bodies that has Phichit gritting his teeth as Chris is letting loose huffed breaths into the shell of his ear and grunting out what must be curses but fuck if Phichit knows any other Northern European language than English, he gets the gist anyway. He’s barely holding on, the tight heat of Chris’ body and the way they’re working each other up to the height of climax is going to be too much for him. Chris seems to be holding on by the barest of threads, that breaks with only the grind of his cock against Phichit’s abdomen where it’s trapped between them. 

 

Phichit slows, kissing Chris through it and gathering him up as he pants against the side of his neck, warm breath caught between their slick chests like a secret between them. It’s quiet and sweet, and the tiny kiss Chris presses to his collarbone is like a pin in the moment, popping it as he straightens back to his full height, still perched on Phichit’s dick. 

 

“Not finished yet, are you?” The look in his eye is dark and dangerous and Phichit wonders for just a second what the hell he signed himself up for as Chris starts moving again, shifting in small increments. “I thought you were the best Thailand had to offer, aren’t you going to  _ prove _ it?”

 

It’s the dumbest thing anyone has ever said, really, because who does he have to prove anything to? He already proved it by taking Gold and the apex of a podium. Yet, in the moment it’s totally rational and totally fine for him to rise up and topple the pair of them, rolling Chris dangerously close to the edge of the bed and nearly risking a concussion as Chris’ knees follow him and bracket his shoulders. 

 

Chris, amazing and funny, flirty and ridiculously hot Chris, loses his fucking shit at being pinned down and fucked roughly into the hotel mattress. He’s gasping, panting and hanging onto the sheets for dear life when Phichit pulls him into his lap and angles his hips just right to pound at his prostate again. 

 

“This what you want?” He’s never usually this rough during sex, never usually this aggressive, but the challenging look and the tipped smile were enough to press buttons Phichit had never imagined he’d even possessed let alone would like to have pushed. “Is it, Chris?”

 

“Fuck - Fuck, yes. Petit, fuck me -” Chris drags him down into a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue than lips, but it’s perfect and amazing. The same way that Chris’ close-cropped hair in his fingers is amazing, and the ripple of the muscles gripping his dick are amazing. He’s so close he can almost taste his climax, a metallic stinging at the back of his teeth, but he’s not going to be outdone on this. So Phichit bites back his own need and lets his fingers find Chris’ leaking cock and work over the shaft, pulling a whine from his lips as he bucks up into the contact.

 

Chris’ second orgasm takes no small amount of finesse to pull from him, Chris is fighting against it under Phichit as he snaps his hips into the other man, but it hits him so hard that he’s boneless, come coating his own chest. The sight of it, Chris coated in his own come with his eyes squeezed closed as Phichit fucks him through it is enough to pull Phichit over the edge, the sound of it muffled into the crook of Chris’ neck as he wraps him into a loose embrace.

 

Chris is sweet, and funny. They stay wrapped together, Phichit rolling them onto their sides and Chris’ accent is all soft edges and filthy laughs as he purrs, “Well  _ that _ was unexpected…”

 

“Unexpected? Tell me Mr. Giacometti, what exactly were you expecting to happen when you invited me to your boudoir?” Phichit fires back matching Chris’ grin with one of his own.

 

“Honestly? I thought  _ I’d _ be fucking  _ you _ for a start -”

 

“Presumptuous.” Phichit interrupts and Chris laughs brightly.

 

“Very, but this was even better.” Chris leans up on an elbow, grinning down at him before ducking in for a kiss.

 

“Mmmh, better, yes. But sticky - shower?” Another kiss, and another. 

 

“In a minute I just want to…” Chris leans in for another kiss. “You are incredibly good at this too, is there anything you aren’t good at?” 

 

Chris grins at him again, sultry and challenging in equal measure. Phichit gets it, he’d expected a quick roll and an excellent orgasm, maybe breakfast and a number. He hadn’t expected the bubbling of chemistry between them, or the way they could go from giggling and flirting to  _ that _ . 

 

“Why don’t you try me and find out?” 

 

They giggle and kiss their way to the shower, hands and lips constantly in contact. Chris fiddles with the controls then drags them under the showerhead before the water is even up to temperature, pulling a gasped laugh from Phichit as the spray courses over them. Chris pulls their bodies flush under the water  _ ‘for warmth’  _ he purrs but Phichit isn’t buying it, especially when Chris is half hard again and kissing him.

 

They don’t get much cleaning done, they don’t get much talking done either. Christophe crowds him against the tiled wall boxing Phichit in and running his lips down to the juncture of Phichit’s neck, teeth finding the meat of it for the barest of moments before he’s moving lower. Chris leaves the tiniest of marks over the plane of his chest, trailing further and further until Phichit feels like he’s existing in a world where the only fucking thing that matters is the feeling of Christophe Giacometti’s lips as they finally,  _ finally _ find his cock. He kisses up the length, working quick fingers over Phichit’s shaft and guiding his mouth over the tip.

 

Phichit has had blowjobs in his time, he’s had his dick sucked by women and men alike, but no one has ever done it the way Chris is doing it right now. Chris isn’t just sucking his cock because he’s expecting it in return, Chris is sucking his cock as though it’s a fucking  _ pleasure _ . Phichit watches his dick disappearing into Chris’ mouth and hears the guy moan around it as though it’s the best thing he’s ever had pass his lips. 

 

Phichit discovers then, that Christophe Giacometti has no gag reflex, and that not only does the guy fucking love sucking cock, but he loves it even more if you fuck his face while pulling on his hair. “Shit that’s fucking hot.” He mutters it more to himself than anything, but Chris moans again, louder this time. Shit. 

 

“You like that?” Phichit wonders if Chris can hear the uncertain note in his voice, but he seems a little preoccupied by the dick in his mouth and nodding feverently. “You like to be told you look fucking hot with my cock in your throat?”

 

The words have the opposite effect that he’d expected, rather than Chris moaning around his cock and redoubling his efforts, he pulls off fully and leans out of the waters spray to look up at Phichit with wide eyes. “Say that again.” His voice is wrecked and Phichit can see his cock strained and heavy on his thighs when he pulls away. There’s a second of hesitance between them, a moment where Phichit is looking down at Chris’ shower-darkened hair, and his wrecked expression. It’s a moment of Phichit considering that, yes neither of them had expected  _ this _ when they’d been speculatively flirting over a boring formal dinner after the media circus, but somehow there’s something bubbling beneath his skin that has him reaching out to grasp Chris’ chin firmly.

 

“You look fucking  _ amazing _ on my cock.” 

 

“Fuck -” Chris ducks his head, leaning his forehead on Phichit’s thigh for a second before he’s clambering to his feet and pulling Phichit to him again, kissing him feverently. “Fuck that’s so hot -”

 

Phichit is pinned again, tiles slick with water but Chris is holding him steady as he kisses and kisses him, their cocks aligning as they rut against each other and  _ fuck _ it feels  _ fucking incredible _ . The hard heat and skin on skin pulling Phichit into it’s grasp just as Chris wraps his fingers around their cocks, working his fist up their lengths and panting his approval into open mouthed kisses that never seem to end. 

 

The water is coursing over them, steam filling the tiny hotel bathroom but Phichit doesn’t fucking care because the hand on his cock is hot and just the right side of tight to drive him crazy. He gives himself up to it, surrendering to the feel of Chris holding him at the waist and thrusting up into the grip on their cocks, pushing Phichit closer and closer to the edge of another orgasm. It’s rough in all the right ways, the water is leaving them with nothing but friction between them.

 

“Fuck. Fuck -” Chris buries his face in the crook of Phichit’s neck again, hips still driving upwards. “Please, I need -”

 

“Fuck. You’re so fucking good at this. _ Fuck _ \- look at you, can’t wait to see you come all over my cock -” Phichit grinds the words out through gritted teeth, Chris’ hips stutter. “You’re doing so - _ so  _ good,  _ fuck _ .”  

 

Chris’ third orgasm is noisy, as though each of his previous had been just a build up to the release that covers Phichit’s dick and Chris’ fist, he moans loudly into Phichit’s shoulder, the sound reverberating from the walls and covering Phichit’s own gasped climax. 

 

They’re both weak kneed and exhausted as they move back to the bedroom, Chris bundling them in a single giant towel and leaning heavily on Phichit as they negotiate the room slowly. They fall back onto the mussed bedsheets, still wrapped around each other and Phichit falls asleep with the thudding sound of Chris’ heartbeat in his ear.

 

* * *

 

It happens again in Barcelona.

 

It happens again, in Barcelona, _ twice _ . 

 

The first time they’ve been pulled into a late meal with their fellow skaters and watch the chaos that unravels at Yuuri’s famously bad drinking memory, Chris leans in to show Phichit the pictures on his phone - his fingers land on Phichit’s thigh and trail away when he moves along to show Mari and Minako. Phichit’s fairly certain he’s getting laid that night, or something similar at least, but his attention is caught by Yuuri and Victor’s matching rings. 

 

A lot of yelling, a few insults thrown by Victor and JJ and they're filing out of the restaurant, shoulders brushing and Phichit can almost feel his pulse jack rabbit at wherever they're going next. 

 

It's Chris’ bedroom, of course it's Chris’. It had to be Chris’ bedroom because Phichit’s was three floors below and he'd missed the elevator stopping because he was too busy with the handfuls of ass he was gripping as Chris ground him into the mirrored surface of the lift. 

 

They stumble their way to Chris’ room, the door flying open and rebounding from the wall in a shuddering thump that mimics the way Phichit’s skull connects with the wall when he’s pushed up against it. The hotel door isn’t weighted, it’s still lying wide open when Chris pulls his fly and releases Phichit’s hard cock, Phichit has to fumble the edge of the door to close it, a protest blossoming from his lips that’s lost on a groan when Chris takes him in his mouth.

 

Fuck that’s good.

 

“So good, fuck you’re  _ so  _ fucking good at that.” The words slide from his lips breathy and filling the chill air of the hotel room with a different kind of heat, Chris shivers at the compliment moaning around his dick, already palming himself. “Mmmh that’s right, you love the taste of my cock don’t you?” 

 

Another shiver, another moan that reverberates through Phichit in all the right ways.  

 

“Are you going to suck me dry?” 

 

Chris nods, mouth full and saliva gathering over his chin.

 

“Are you going to fuck your fist for me?”   
  


This is insane. It’s crazy. Phichit isn’t  _ like _ this, he’s not domineering and possessive, but seeing Christophe melt at the words? Seeing his fingers tremble as he fumbles at his pants? It sends every one of his synapses into overload.

 

He grabs handfuls of Chris’ curls, guiding him over his cock as Chris fucks into the circle of his fingers, there are tears gathering in the corner of his eyes as Phichit fucks his face. “So beautiful. Gorgeous.” His tongue darts to wet his lips, a tiny movement but it draws Chris’ eye. He moans, again.

 

“Fuck, you’re such a good cocksucker. You feel so fucking good on my - Can’t wait to fill you up with my come.” Chris’ hand stills on his cock when he comes, spilling over his fingers and on the carpet. Phichit slows, releasing Chris’ hair and stroking the tears away from those brilliant green eyes. Chris pulls off his cock for just a moment, wiping at his mouth and gasping breaths. “So good.”

 

Phichit pets him through regaining some of his composure, catching his breath and cleaning his face off with his thumbs. Chris looks completely wrecked and Phichit is still edging towards his orgasm as Chris’ fingers, still covered with his own release, close around Phichits dick. Chris is still shaky from his climax but he doesn’t hesitate when their gazes catch. “Come on me, please? Please?”

 

Fucking hell.

 

“You want me to come on your pretty face darling?” Chris nods, licking his lips and waiting, his fingers still travelling up and down Phichit’s dick in an exquisite grip. Christophe Giacometti is going to be the fucking death of him, because his fist speeds up and there’s a twist to his wrist that makes Phichit’s knees weak and then Chris leans in, placing his tongue over the head of Phichits cock and it’s all over.

 

The sight of Christophe Giacometti begging to be covered in his come, begging to have Phichit’s load on his face was bad enough - but the sight of him waiting open mouthed and eyes closed is like a punch to the gut, pulling Phichit’s orgasm from him in a gasp as he spills over Chris’ tongue. Phichit doesn’t know if he’s ever come so hard in his fucking life, Chris’ face is a mess of dripping semen, saliva and tears, but he moans again at the feeling of Phichit’s come over his cheeks and chin and his dick twitches where it lies on his thigh.

 

Fuck. Fuck thats so fucking hot. 

 

He can’t help but trail his fingers through the warm come on Chris’ face, leading them back to Chris’ mouth where he’s still panting and feeding it to him in careful swipes. Chris takes it all, eyes closed and humming around Phichit’s fingers. “Beautiful…”

 

* * *

 

The banquet room is packed, sponsors and competitors circling each other and chatter filling the too warm room. Phichit can feel the way his shirt collar cuts into his neck just a little as he looks up at Celestino, who’s encouraging him to mingle, to chat to sponsors and sell himself a little. 

 

He will, of course, but first he wants to find Christophe. Phichit had watched Chris’ programs, had seen the way Chris had braced himself at the scores and hitched a wide smile over his disappointment, had seen him blow kisses and accept hugs from his coach. It sat wrong with him, seeing Chris so deflated. He doesn’t catch sight of Chris though, he’s being led around by Celestino with bright smiles and lots of ‘Thailand’s first!’; he puts his best smile on and keeps an eye out for the Swiss skater, clutching his glass of Champagne but not really touching it.

 

The banquet grinds by slowly, Phichit finds Chris after an hour but he can’t get over to him because Celestino has him trapped in a conversation with Mizuno who’re interested in doing a Grand Prix spread for South-East Asia and have already contacted Seung-Gil, apparently. Phichit couldn’t give a shit about Seung-Gil right now, he wants to go and grab Chris by the wrist and drag him somewhere quiet. 

 

He manages to free himself from the terminally dull conversation and makes a beeline for Chris, only to be stopped in his tracks by Yuuri who grips both of his forearms tightly and starts tearily reciting his love for Phichit. 

 

Shit, Yuuri’s  _ drunk _ .

 

Where the hell is Nikiforov, shouldn’t he be looking after his skater?

 

Victor, it turns out, is even more smashed than Yuuri and is currently hugging Plisetsky and telling him how proud he is of his protege. Plisetsky is explosively furious at the implication, drawing onlookers at his vehement outburst and even pulling Yuuri’s attention away from Phichit.

 

It goes downhill from there. 

 

Yuuri calls out to Yuri who does not appreciate the interruption. Victor, hearing Yuuri’s voice crows with delight, mag of Champagne dangling from his fingers as he turns and pulls Yuri with him over to them. “Yuuuuuuri! Yuuri you found Phichit! Good work!”

 

“Uh. Yes?” Victor Nikiforov gives him a swift once over, gaze sharp and considering.

 

“You’re my Yuuri’s best friend, yes?”

 

“Yes?” He’s answering every question with a question, but hell if he knows where Nikiforov is taking this line of questioning.

 

“Excellent! Perfecto! Chris??” This last is called out over the heads of the crowd and Phichit hears Chris’ reply of ‘Oh for goodness sake Vitya stop yelling-’ before the crowd around them parts and Chris pushes into the group. “Brilliant! Chris come here!” Victor catches Chris’ elbow and steers him next to Phichit, gesturing to the pair of them happily. “Yuuri look! It’s our best men!”

 

“Oh jeeze…” Phichit mutters as Yuuri glances between the pair of them. Phichit can feel the warmth of Chris’ arm seconds before it settles over his shoulder. 

 

“Best men? Well of  _ course _ we’re the  _ best men _ .” Chris purrs, but it's off slightly and Phichit knows it and he wants again to drag Chris away from the eyes around them and make him really smile again. 

 

Shit he might be taking this too far. 

 

“Don’t they look  _ amazing _ together, Yuuri?” Victor isn’t listening, he’s grinning around the mouth of the Champagne bottle and ignoring Yuri Plisetsky’s mutterings about how gross they both are. “We’re going to have the most beautiful wedding in the history of weddings!”

 

Yuuri for his part, still tearful from his assault on Phichit sobers very, very suddenly. “Oh shit. Vitya, we’re getting  _ married _ !” Yuuri sounds incredulous and Victor Nikiforov, five time GPF gold medalist and single most intimidating athlete in the room, crows in abject delight and throws himself at his fiance, careless of the spill of booze and the fact that he takes Plisetsky out at the same time. 

 

And yes, Phichit might be Yuuri’s best friend, but he’s also a studious user of social media. So he whips out his cell and snaps a few shots from beside Chris, laughing at the carnage and the way Yuuri’s yell of horror turns to giggles, even if they are eclipsed by Plisetsky’s fury somewhat. His best friend is happily ensconced in his fiance’s arms, laughing at the idiocy and Phichit watches it all with a bright smile. It’s nice to see Yuuri so happy, so content, so… comfortable in his own skin. 

 

And so very,  _ very _ drunk. 

 

Plisetsky peels himself away from the lovebirds, scowling at the pair and Chris sighs and tries to pry them apart. It seems to be a monumental task, because Victor is clinging to Yuuri and proclaiming his love in several languages only two of which Phichit can identify, and Yuuri is cooing right back at him, all soft edges and softer replies. Phichit hates to break it up, but honestly they're never going to get married if they get barred from the ISU for breach of etiquette two years in a row. 

 

Between himself and Chris they manage to pull the pair into some semblance of standing, Victor is leaning heavily on Chris and bemoaning the loss of his Champagne but Chris laughs fondly at his friend as they navigate them out of the banquet and into the quiet of the hotel hallway. Yuuri is dozing by the time they make it to the elevators, fingers entwined with Victor’s and nuzzling in to Phichit’s shoulder as they wobble into the lift.

 

“These idiots will do themselves some serious damage one day,” Chris smiles fondly down at Victor’s hair fanned over his shoulder.

 

“Good thing they have us then, isn’t it?” Phichit smiles and Chris shoots him a swift look, assessing the words before he offers Phichit a small smile again.

 

“Yes, they do.” 

 

They manage to find Victor and Yuuri’s room, strewn with the debris of dressing and several  _ other _ things, after shaking down the pair for their keycard and dumping them into the pushed together beds unceremoniously. Yuuri immediately reaches out for Victor over the expanse of the mattress and Victor curls into his chest as though he belongs there. It’s every kind of sweet and cute and adorable and Phichit feels like he could puke a rainbow just being in proximity to the pair of them. Chris watches him, watching Victor and Yuuri and gives him that same soft smile from the elevator, beckoning him away and out of the room. 

 

Chris leads him to the elevators, their arms brushing as they enter and Phichit lets his fingers glance off the back of Chris’ hand. Their fingers tangle as though it’s totally normal for them, as though they’re the ones hopelessly in love and curled around each other. Chris leads again as the doors open silently, not asking or consulting Phichit as they make their way to his room once again. 

 

There’s a weight between them, something pulling them down and together as they enter the room, Chris pauses to turn to him but Phichit doesn’t give him a chance to speak - he pulls them flush and kisses Chris. It’s soft in a way they haven’t been with each other before, soft in the way Chris’ lips feel against his, soft in the press of Phichit’s fingers at the nape of Chris’ neck. 

 

“ _ Petit _ …” The pet name is whispered against Phichit’s lips, an affirmation and a supplication as Phichit’s fingers find their way to Chris’ tie, loosening the knot and sliding it from his collar. Phichit bites his lip, moving onto the buttons of Chris’ shirt and covering Chris’ chest in presses of lips. 

 

They move together on instinct, all soft touches and soft sighs as they undress one another, kisses pouring back and forth until they’re both naked and wanting and Phichit can feel the tension in Chris’ skin. Chris needs him, right here, right now and Phichit is all too willing to throw himself into the press of Chris’ fingers at the base of his spine that leads them to the bed. They’re tangled again, knees bumping and chests connecting, Chris hemming him in with those lean limbs as they kiss and kiss, fingers clutching at each other.  

 

Chris’ eyes are bright as he pulls away, out of Phichit’s grip and over to the bedside table, shuffling through the drawer. Phichit props his chin on Chris’ shoulder watching as he fishes out lube and a couple of condoms and earns himself a  _ look _ from Chris, it’s that searching look from the hallway, from the elevator and Phichit answers it with another kiss. He pours himself into it, letting his fingers meander over Chris’ hip and down to his cock in a teasing touch that has Chris turning in Phichit’s arms, dropping the condoms and lube in favor of returning the touch. They lose themselves to the touches, to the feel of skin on skin and the way it feels so, so good to be pressed together and just experiencing this heat. 

 

Phichit had resigned himself after Cup of China to the fact that while he and Chris shared amazing chemistry, they weren’t anything more than the kind of people who could fuck excellently and not much more. His theory had been further proved by their night before the short programs, messy and sloppy and just the right side of filthy to power Phichit’s spank bank for the next year alone, but  _ this…  _

 

Chris is stunning as he presses his shoulders into the hotel bed, arching into the feeling of Phichit’s fingers opening him in slow, sure strokes; his approval is given in gasping praise and the way he pulls Phichit to him for a kiss and whispers,  _ “Please, petit, I’m ready.” _

 

There’s a fumbling minute of finding condoms, of Chris opening the damn thing because Phichit is covered in lube and can’t grip the foil, of the grip of Chris’ fingers rolling the latex over his dick and pulling their hips flush as he pours lube over their erections. Then it's all hot heat and pressure, Chris leading and Phichit following as he pushes into Chris’ body. 

 

They move together, the clutching fingers on his hip and his back keep them connected, the roll of Chris’ hips against his is a grind that has Phichit gasping against Chris’ lips. 

 

Phichit almost feels too close, already. 

 

It's something about the way the kisses haven't stopped, instead they're flowing back and forth like water passed from cup to cup. Maybe it's the way Chris is illuminated by the lights of the Barcelona skyline beneath him, all highlights of red and orange that paint him in shades of pleasure as they move together. It could be the press of Chris’ fingers, holding him tight against his chest. 

 

_ It's a lot like making love _ .

 

The thought has him pulling away and out of Chris’ grip, looking for some distance, for some space to gather himself. It's a terrible idea to get so attached to something so temporary. 

 

It's also a terrible idea to pull back, it turns out, because Phichit earns himself the view of Chris with his head tipped back and his eyes squeezed closed tightly. Chris is huffing out breaths and expletives, one hand tight on Phichits thigh and the other thrown over his face. 

 

He looks  _ beautiful.  _

 

It almost slips from his lips, it almost falls out into the heavy air on the build of Phichit’s climax and the clawing fingers of need, but Chris has found his voice again, “Fuck, petit, like that -  _ yes - _ ”

 

Chris bears down against him, a ripple of heat and muscles and Phichit is a too far gone to stop the spill of his orgasm. His climax ripped from him in a shuddering pull as he unloads into the condom with a bitten off groan. 

 

_ Fuck.  _

 

“Fuck. That was so hot -” Chris gathers him back in, arms wrapping him carefully and fingers carding through his damp hair. 

 

Phichit wants to cry, wants to wail because it's over too soon and he's helplessly boneless against Chris’ chest, feeling the press of Chris’ dick against his stomach while Chris hums platitudes and kindnesses into his skin. He's still boneless when he slips from Chris’ ass, and Chris is still gentle when he leaves the bed to collect a cloth and clean him up, discarding the condom and running the washcloth over him in gentle presses. 

 

It's too much, it's too kind and too soon for Phichit to want to keep some small piece of this. When Chris rejoins him in the bed he wraps himself around Phichit as though he belongs there, still half-hard against Phichit’s hip. Phichit wants to drown in the safe, warm feel of it. Instead he gathers himself, strength returning along with his equilibrium incrementally and he run his fingers over Chris’ cock like it's a question. 

 

“You don't have to -” Chris is being kind again, too kind and too nice as usual.

 

“I want to - I…” He wants too much, he wants  _ everything _ and its greedy and stupid because they’re just  _ fucking  _ for fucks sake, but he wants it. 

 

“What do you want, Petit?” Chris pulls away looking into his face with that searching glance that makes Phichit want to hide his face for fear of his greed showing. Instead he rolls them, capturing Chris’ lips and boxing him in with his limbs, pushing into Chris’ hands when they settle on his ass. It’s too much to ask for, right now, but Chris gets the message loud and clear, groaning against Phichit’s lips and running his fingers over the flesh of his ass. Chris pulls away, breathless and watching him as he kneads into Phichit’s flesh. “You want me?”

 

“Please?” He punctuates it with another kiss, another push into Chris’ hands and shudders when Chris’ fingers move between his cheeks, as much a question as an affirmation when Phichit groans into the kiss.

 

Chris doesn't hesitate once he has permission. There’s a shuffling of limbs, Chris moving up the bed to lean against the headboard, bringing Phichit with him. He fumbles for the lube, abandoned on the nightstand after his own prep and flips the lid open without a second glance. Chris has to work by touch because Phichit is kissing and kissing him, muting the sound of a gasp against Chris’ lips as cool, slick fingers press against his rim. 

 

Phichit pushes into it, pushes against those insistent fingers as they breach him, slowly and one at a time as Chris opens him up. It's intimate - so, so intimate, with their chests close and lips locked. Chris whispers platitudes between kisses, pressing sweet words against Phichit’s lips as Phichit sinks back onto his thick fingers over and over. The stretch isn't easy, there are moments where Phichit has to still Chris and pull away to catch his breath, a shuddering second where Christophe’s fingers glide over Phichits prostate and he whines at the sensitivity. All the while Chris is gentle, and kind, and patient - and Phichit is falling further into something he doesn't dare ask for, something that makes him feel like his chest is filled with molten magma. 

 

Phichit isn't used to this, he's not the chaser. He's the guy who in a room filled with winners tonight outshined the sneering face of the gold medallist with his smile. Phichit isn't the guy who does the chasing, the only thing he's consistently chased is the podium; but as Chris frees his fingers and rolls on a condom, Phichit wonders if Christophe Giacometti might be the exception to the rule…

 

Chris steadies Phichit with a hand on his hip, the touch soothing as Phichit bears down onto his hard cock. It’s a lot. A  _ lot _ , a lot. Phichit’s fingers tighten on Chris shoulders as he breathes through the initial burn of being filled, the room quiet around them and only the sound of their huffed breaths breaking the silence. 

 

_ “Petit…” _

 

When Phichit finally gathers himself enough to open his eyes, the pet name calling him back from the overwhelming sensation of stretch and burn, Chris is watching him with hooded eyes, and a blush over his cheeks that Phichit wants to kiss away. There’s too much in those eyes, too many questions that Phichit isn’t going to anwer anytime soon if he can help it. Instead he shifts his hips, testing the slide of their bodies with a dancer’s grace and Chris’ groans into the feeling.

 

It's like the first notes of a song that start a program, that shift of hips - suddenly they’re moving together in rolls and thrusts that have them gasping into the silence of the room. Chris is pressing his back against the headboard, using the leverage to fuck up into Phichit as Phichit grips ever more tightly to his shoulders and rides back up against Chris’ cock. It’s hot and hard and so, so good as it grazes his prostate and sparks a heat in his abdomen he’s only ever felt from the other side of this. 

 

Phichit throws himself into it, chasing the sensation that coils heavily and has him throwing his head back, eyes squeezed shut as he loses himself. He’s barely moving at all now, just letting Chris fuck up into him as he clings. It’s nothing like he’d expected, this feeling thats working him up and up to a height he’d only imagined. Fuck, he can see why Chris loves bottoming so much now, if this is how it feels…

 

“Petit. Fuck, you’re so…” Chris is pulling his hips down over and over again, their slick thighs meeting with a friction that has Pichit dizzy. “Fuck, so fucking hot.”

 

“Hnng, fuck.” He can barely concentrate on the words spilling from Chris’ mouth let alone the meaning, he can only bury his face in the crook of Chris’ neck and loop him into a sloppy hug as he holds on.

 

“”Petit?” Chris stops them, peeling Phichit away from him and looking concerned. Phichit can’t answer him - if he did it would just be an incoherent plea for more, and that’s not what they do. Instead all that falls from Phichit’s lips is a whine as he rolls his hips again, and it’s worse than begging because suddenly the jig is up and Chris is looking at him like he  _ knows _ , like that simple noise and turn of hips has told him everything he needs to know. 

 

“Petit… is this…?” Chris is still frustratingly static, Phichit speared on his cock and getting restless, but Chris stills him when he tries to move again. That searching look sweeps over Phichit’s face and he wants to hide from it. Chris loses his grip on Phichit’s hips to run his thumbs over the curve of each of his cheeks. “It’s too much for you, isn’t it?” 

 

It takes a second for the words to sink in, but once they do Phichit is shaking his head and protesting. “No, no. it’s just… new.”

 

“Oh…  _ oh. _ ” The look of understanding is edged by confusion for a second before it melts into shock. “You - You’ve  _ never? _ ” There’s a very telling blush building up on Phichit’s cheeks that Chris takes as his answer. “Oh petit, you should have said…” 

 

Phichit is very aware of the blush on his cheeks, and the dick still in his ass, and the way Chris kisses his temple before he’s being manhandled away from Chis in a pull that has him whining again. Chris soothes him with presses of fingers to his rib, maneuvering Phichit onto his front. “Here, this might be easier for you, just lift your hips for me?” 

 

He’s waiting for Chris to pull him up onto his knees and fuck him into the mattress waiting for the grip to his hips that would feel oh so like being a toy to be played with, but it doesn’t come. Instead Chris slides a pillow under his stomach and runs his fingers over the curve of Phichit’s spine, sliding down the length of his back and then guiding his legs apart. 

 

Chris settles behind him, but he’s far away,  _ too _ far. Phichit is about to finally say  _ something _ about it, when he feels his hips being gently guided into an uptilt, feels Chris’ weight settling against his back, feels the telltale push against his rim that has him gasping. Chris isn’t miles away now, he’s pressed flush against Phichit’s back, his arms looped under Phichits and keeping them close as he eases back into Phichit’s body. 

 

It should feel stifling, having Chris encompassing every inch of him, instead it feels safe and warm. Their legs tangle, Phichit hooking his feet around Chris’ knees as Chris hooks his chin over Phichit’s shoulder and drops kisses into the crook of his neck. The slide is smoother, the fuck deeper, and every part of Phichit that had cooled off during their conversation is heating right back up as Chris nails his prostate over and over. 

 

He’s hard - he’s hard and leaking all over the cotton of the hotel pillow as Chris works him over again, whispering pet names and sweet things that make him shudder with the intimacy. It’s so good - so, so good and Phichit is moaning incessantly now, not bothering to hold it in anymore. Chris isn’t much better, his chest is sticking to Phichit’s back with the sweat he’s worked up and he’s barely managing to finish each pet name before he’s groaning into Phichit’s skin.

 

“Petit - fuck you feel - nnnnhm -” 

 

“Fuck - fuck me… Chris,  _ please _ .” He’s never been this needy - this desperate - but when Chris leans up Phichit’s hips follow him, still joined deep and pushes back onto his hard cock. Their tempo jumps, ratcheting up as Chris works a hand to Phichit’s cock and runs the length of it, fucking him from both sides and making him cry out from yet another sensory input. It takes seconds to have him spilling over Chris’ fingers, his muscles tensing with the power of it and he can feel the way Chris shudders behind him as he clamps down on his cock. 

 

“Fuck - fuck, Phichit -” Chris’ hips follow the frisson passing through his body as he comes, gasping out his approval in huffed breaths. He’s frozen for a moment, before he collapses against Phichit’s back once more, pressing his face into the curve of Phichit’s spine and whispering something that Phichit can’t make out into the skin. It’s a moment, a single frozen second, but Phichit feels it to the depths of his being when Chris punctuates whatever his little secret was with a kiss and pulls out gently, guiding Phichit away from the pillow he’d thoroughly abused and onto the cool sheets. 

 

Chris disposes of the condom, wandering to the bathroom and returning with a cool washcloth that he runs over Phichit in soft strokes that would lull him to sleep if not for the fact that Chris is manhandling him to get every inch of him cleaned. Phichit is wrung out, feeling fuzzy around the edges and like his limbs are made of lead as Chris throws the cloth in the general direction of the open bathroom door and pulls them back together. 

 

Phichit allows it, lets himself fall into the embrace and snuggle into the warmth of Chris’ arms, entirely too tired to care that he should be heading back to his room. He’s drifting on the edges of sleep when Chris’ fingers, which had been running the length of his spine and back, push them apart by an inch.

 

“You should have told me, you know.” Chris’ face is a little out of focus as Phichit pulls himself back to reality and blinks himself aware.

 

“Told you what?” Phichit frowns, confused.

 

“That it was your first time?” Chris is frowning at him with a tiny pout and Phichit has the urge to laugh, not only at the expression, but at the statement. There’s a tiny chuckle that slips past his lips that has Chris looking even more confused.

 

“That wasn’t my first time bottoming, Chris.” The chuckle dies from his lips when Chris doesn’t join in, but just looks baffled by the words. 

 

“Then what -” 

 

“I - uh, it wasn’t my first time bottoming.” Phichit fumbles for the words because Chris doesn’t seem to be following his thought process at all and Phichit doesn’t want there to be any confusion. “I had an ex, it wasn’t great and I told him so, we broke up pretty quickly after that. Like five minutes or less.” He laughs weakly and shrugs. “So yeah, not my first time, but it might have been the only time I’ve, uh, enjoyed it?”

 

“Okay… so the ex…” 

 

“Very much an ex, really didn’t enjoy constructive criticism on his performance as a top.” Another shrug, this one with a rueful smile that Chris doesn’t return. Instead he pulls further away from Phichit and frowns again.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Oh?” 

 

“So he didn’t…  _ make _ you or anything, did he?” Chris asks haltingly and Phichit near has a heart attack at the implication, jumps in with a denial within seconds.

 

“Oh heck no! No I wanted to try it but like, wow that guy couldn’t prep to save his life and like… yano it just was… not good. Too sensitive, too painful.” And he hadn’t meant to say that but fuck he doesn’t want Chris to be worried about this. If there’s anything Phichit can do to clear the expression on Chris’ face he’s do it. Chris’ expression does clear then, minutely, but he still seems cautious.

 

“So today?” Chris is still further away than Phichit would like, but he’ll take far away for now as long as Chris comes back to him at the end of whatever the hell is bugging him.

 

“Tonight?” Phichit echoes, still not sure what Chris is looking for.

 

“Yeah… was it…?” Chris trails off and Phichit wants to shake him from the stupidity of it. Tonight had been amazing, the best sex of Phichit’s life. The most thorough boning he’d ever had - but he doesn’t think any of that would placate Christophe right now… 

 

“Better? I think the evidence for that is all over the spare pillow, Giacometti.”

 

“Pfft, No!” Chris scoffs, sparing a grin for the poor pillow and turning back to Phichit with a fond look. “Was it… what you wanted?”

 

So that’s what’s bugging him? Of course it had been what he wanted, it wouldn’t have happened otherwise - Phichit doesn’t have qualms making his wants known. Maybe he should have used words tonight rather than relying on Chris’ ability to read him? Either way it had been perfect and Phichit doesn’t regret a second of it.

 

“It was. It was amazing.” 

 

“Oh, okay.” He relaxes into Phichit’s arms with a smile. “Good.”

 

* * *

 

Phichit wakes to the bright Barcelona sun breaking through the split in the curtains. He shifts against Chris’ chest, which he’s apparently made his pillow and feels his muscles protesting their abuse from the night before. Rather than grumbling at the pain, it makes Phichit’s cheeks warm and his chest flutter in the weirdest way. He’s never felt this… light after sleeping with someone.

 

Chris is still passed out, his arm thrown over his face at the suns assault. Phichit takes the chance to watch the way the light plays off the gold of his curls, thoroughly mussed after their night together, and watch the way Chris’ lips part in his sleep. He’s astonishingly handsome in the morning light, the hard edge of his jaw looking deceptively soft and ever so kissable…

 

Phichit restrains himself from leaning down and dropping kisses onto Chris’ skin, he tamps down the urge to fall back onto Chris’ chest and go back to sleep. Instead he checks his cell and finds that he has four hours until he’s due at El Prat airport and six missed calls from Celestino. 

 

So much for enjoying the afterglow…

 

Phichit rolls out of the covers, hopping to his feet and ignoring the twinge of muscles again, busying himself with pulling on his clothes from the detritus of the floor and stuffing his tie in his jacket. Walk of shame or no, he’s not going in the full monkey suit Celestino had insisted on for the banquet. 

 

It’s only when he’s pulled on his shoes and laced them that he hesitates. Chris is still out for the count, he doesn’t want to wake him, not when he looks so peaceful… His answer, it seems, is the blank expanse of the hotel stationary and his spidery scrawl. He leaves his number, wondering if Chris would ever even think of using it, and a small goodbye before he turns back to the bed. 

 

He leaves Chris with a kiss to his cheek and a note that reads ‘ _ See you at Worlds! <3 _ ’ on the now empty pillow.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> And as always you can find me on Tumblr as [@topcatnikki](https://topcatnikki.tumblr.com/) if you wanna see more of this au hit me up and I can yell headcanon at you!


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